


Time Won't Heal an Entire Damn Arm

by maph



Series: One Arm Short of Mental Stability [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: !!!!, Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Dorks in Love, Even limbless balls of rage have off nights, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Injury, It's low-key but not really, It's really angsty I'm warning you, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith doesn't have left arm, M/M, Nightmares, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, Tornadoes, klance, lance is a goofball, never fear Lance is here, who cares about Keith a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maph/pseuds/maph
Summary: Ever since Keith had nearly beat a guy up with his prosthetic arm and humble grocery store worker Lance had stopped him, the two had hit it off and had begun probably one of the most successful relationships of his life. Lance completed him; he made him laugh, comforted him, and provided a great distraction from the flood of memories Keith had been struggling to ignore for years. One night, however, hand in hand with a thunder storm, all his attempts to forget the day that had taken his home, his family, and his arm proved to fail him, sending Keith spiraling into a nightmare filled with blood, pain, and death.





	Time Won't Heal an Entire Damn Arm

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't, you should probably go read the first fic of this series. There's a lot of background info, plus, I've heard you may or may not laugh your ass off.
> 
> Now let me just talk about my main man Cameryn for a sec. She took the time out of her busy ass life to beta-read an create some of the best artwork I have ever seen for little ol' me. Your creativity and drive is astounding, and I'm so grateful that we met. Thank you so much!! And for the record, that second drawing fucked me up, and I even wrote this damn thing.

“No way. No fucking _way_.”

Grumbling only slightly as the arm previously draped across his shoulders flew into his face, Keith grinned smugly at Lance’s complete and utter shock. “Yes way.”

“No. I refuse to believe it.”

 “You’d better start believing.”

 Lance flailed his arms, face frozen in an expression of indignation. “There’s no way it was him the entire god damn time.”

 Keith merely shoved his boyfriend’s hands to the side, blinking amusedly at his over the top and completely Lance-like reaction. One of the things he could always count on with Lance was his ability to dramatize situations that weren’t always the most entertaining, easily making them exciting, laughable, and downright enjoyable. Keith had always found his wide range of emotions endearing, and this time was no exception.

 Burrowing himself huffily into the couch cushions, Lance crossed his arms and glared at his boyfriend, amusing the other to no end. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

 Keith laughed lightly and patted Lance’s thigh, knowing full well the other had had absolutely zero qualms in spending the night at Keith’s apartment for a movie night, even if the movie happened to be one that was critically acclaimed for fucking with people’s heads. Though of course, Lance hadn’t known the movie choice when he’d agreed to come (because who could say no to a guy with only one arm), but what could he say, Keith was always a slut for watching people flip shit. Especially if it was over one of his favorite movies of all time: _The Usual Suspects._

 Keith fiddled with the straps of his prosthetic left arm, a bad habit he’d picked up over the years, and smiled at Lance’s apparent disgruntlement. Reaching out with his right, he poked the other in the shoulder, grin growing wider as he was grouchily pushed away. “No. No touchy for you. You just put my brain through hell, I hope you’re happy.”

 “I am, actually.”

 Lance glared at him, but the mirth in his eyes ruined the effect. “Aren’t you just an all-around amazing person, Mr. Sadist Extraordinaire.”

“Yeah, that’s me, the cruel, one-limbed wonder.”

 Finally, Lance cracked, wavering scowl twisting up into a smile. Eyes crinkling, he tugged at Keith’s wrist, pulling his boyfriend into his lap. Keith, caught unaware, took a few seconds to respond to the light kiss Lance had placed upon his lips. “Okay but it all seriousness though, the movie wasn’t _too_ bad, despite it screwing me up for all eternity.”

Keith’s lip’s curled, propping himself up so he could rest his chin on Lance’s shoulder. “Oh?”

 “Yeah, it was alright.”

 Keith grinned. “ _I’m_ all right.”

 Lance blinked. “Uh, okay?”

 “No, no. I’m _all right._ ”

 “Yeah you said that al— oh. _Oh._ ” Lance groaned, raking a hand down his face before using it to smack him upside the head. “Dammit, Keith!”

Keith smirked, batting his boyfriend’s hand away. “Don’t hit a cripple, Lance. That’s rude.” Ignoring the other’s squawks of indignation, he closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, trying to remember a time he’d been this happy. Sure, after he’d grown old enough to live on his own, Keith’s life had indeed taken a turn for the better. Attending college provided him with work to keep his mind off of depressing stuff, and gave him an excuse to leave his dinky apartment. And though he didn’t have many friends, Keith had been able to go about his life without nose-diving into a depression like he had after the night he had lost his arm _and_ his parents. But he hadn’t exactly been happy. Not until he met Lance.

 That fateful, horrible, no good, very bad day, in which Keith had missed two of his classes, gotten mugged, and been screamed at by a middle-aged asshole, was by far one of the best days Keith had ever experienced. It was the day he had met Lance, the day he really, truly, felt something other than, well, nothing.

 And much to Keith’s surprise, the two had hit it off marvelously. Like pieces to a puzzle, they had clicked in a way he had never experienced before, and with Lance came a true appreciation for the life he lived. He suddenly had things to look forward to, people to hang out with, and it was all thanks to the loveable dork he could now call his boyfriend.

 A sudden, loud rumble of thunder jolted Keith from his thoughts, driving all musings of contentment away in a flash. His muscles locked and tensed as his eyes darted towards the singular window in his living room, searching agitatedly for any sign of danger, which to him, meant any sign of a storm. There was no rain yet, but there would be. With thunder came lighting and rain, with lightning and rain came wind, and with wind there was always, always—

  _Death._ Keith clicked his tongue, trying to push such an absurd notion from his head. He was being stupid, he wasn’t going to die. He was with Lance, in his apartment and the couch and far, far away from stupid fucking _Texas_.

 “Uhhh, Keith? You still here?”

 Keith’s eyes flew towards Lance, fixing him with a disoriented stare. “Yeah, sorry. Just distracted.”

 “Uh, that’s okay. Do you—“ Lance broke off as another boom of thunder sent the other’s eyes shooting back to the window. He waited a few moments until Keith seemed better composed, and then asked, “So, you don’t like storms?”

 Keith shrugged, keeping his eyes fixated on the window. He didn’t trust himself to talk, because if he opened his mouth now he was positive his voice would crack. And if Lance wouldn’t pounce on that as an excuse to tease him, then Keith seriously needed to reassess his intelligence.

 But, as Keith seemed to have forgotten, Lance _never_ needed an excuse to tease him. While he was distracted, the other jabbed him in the side, eyes gleaming in unshed laughter. “Huh, I’d never have guessed you’d be scared of the weather, considering you’re such a _stormy_ guy.”

 Keith blinked, taken aback. “Oh my god.”

 “What? You can’t blame me for not knowing you didn’t like ‘em. Remember when you _stormed_ that guy in the parking lot where I work?”

 “Jesus Christ, stop.”

 “Well now that I know you don’t like storms, I guess you could say that I’m,” Lance paused for dramatic effect, smirked widening as Keith’s apparent exasperation heightened to levels known to only god himself, “en _light_ ened.”

 It was a well-known fact that when a person loses a limb, the rest of their body has to work double to compensate for the lack of strength. Which was why when Keith shoved angrily at Lance’s shoulders, the other very nearly was bowled off the couch. But this, of course, did not stop him from laughing his ass off. And maybe Keith laughed a bit too, but it was definitely because he’d almost pushed Lance off the couch. Not because his jokes were actually funny, or anything.

 “Oh come on, admit that I’m funny!”

Keith smirked, opening his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘ _when cows levitate_ ,’ but his almost-good mood promptly plummeted when this time, accompanied by a cacophony of thunder, was a blinding flash of lightning. His pupils dilated, breath hitching as he dug his fingers into a nearby couch cushion and all but ripped it apart.

 Keith was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the small, concerned frown his boyfriend shot in his direction. He didn’t hear Lance quietly call out his name, nor did he spot him reach out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder.

 Upon feeling the gentle touch, Keith jolted, whipping his head around while simultaneously whacking Lance’s hand away with his own. His breathing had picked up, and it wasn’t until his own eyes met dark blue did it even out, if only slightly. “Keith, seriously, are you okay?”

 Keith released a shaky sigh, grabbing Lance’s hand and squeezing it in apology. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He looked at his boyfriend’s face, and _wow_ , if Keith had thought for even a second that he would believe that lie, then Lance’s expression easily put the notion to shame. It was so blatantly obvious, from the scrunched eyebrows to the downturned lips, that Lance was having absolutely _none_ of Keith’s bullshit.

 But luckily, he didn’t press it, a fact that relieved Keith greatly. Despite acting like a total (yet adorable,) buffoon, Lance could discern when something was genuinely bothering someone. He knew when not to pry, and he knew that sometimes the best kind of support was the silent kind, and Keith absolutely adored him for it.

Lance stared at Keith for a few moments longer, an unreadable expression plastered on his face, before he seemed to relent, eyes softening with thinly veiled concern. Taking his hand and gently tugging him off the couch, Lance lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, smiling gently at Keith as he did so. “Okay, I believe you. Now let’s go get some sleep, yeah?”

 Sleep sounded kind of nice, actually. Following Lance to his room, Keith flopped face-first into his pillow, sparing a few seconds unstrap his prosthetic and toss a pillow to his boyfriend. He flung his arm to the side, uncaring of where it landed, and was perfectly content to fall asleep right there and then if it weren’t for the other human in his bed. At Lance’s whining insistence, he reluctantly wormed his way under the sheets, and allowed himself to be held as he burrowed into the mattress.

 With Lance’s warm, comforting presence beside him and a lanky arm draped over his side, Keith almost forgot about the raging storm howling outside his window. _Almost_. It was several minutes, each seeming like their own separate eternity, before Keith finally drifted off into a restless, uneasy sleep. 

* * *

  _Though Keith was shorter and shyer than most other ten-year-old boys, he was just as adventurous as the rest of the kids his age, if not more so. This trait was one he was quite proud of, exhibited clearly as, instead of taking shelter from the blistering Texas sun, he was spending the day romping around his backyard._

_To an older person, Keith’s home might have looked a bit barren, void of trees and covered in brittle grass. But to him, Keith’s backyard could morph into whatever he wanted it to be. On some occasions, it was a dangerous jungle filled with vicious predators only he could defeat. Other times, it was a war-torn battleground in which he could play the hero, swooping in at the last minute to save the day. But today, as Keith jumped and raced around in the dirt, he had decided the yard would be his favorite: space._

**** _Unaware of his parents’ fond looks from the overlooking kitchen window, Keith ran in wide, irregular circles, arms outstretched as each turn was accompanied by a loud, heartfelt “vroom” or “woosh.” In his mind’s eye, he soared amongst the stars, making friends with aliens, fighting bad guys, and gleefully laughing all the while. He hopped from planet to planet with each revolution around his yard, discovered new species with every energized step, and painted entire galaxies with just a blink of his eyes._

_Despite the millions of imaginary places his backyard could be, space was undoubtedly Keith’s favorite. He loved the thought of flying through the inky darkness that stretched farther than life itself, and dreamed to eventually become an astronaut. One day, Keith hoped to discover an alien. He, Keith Kogane, astronaut-extraordinaire, would forever be known as the first to find an alien. His little, ten-year-old brain was indescribably excited at the prospect._

_After a good thirty minutes of chasing spaceships only he himself could see, the sky began to darken as a sudden accumulation of clouds began to blot out the sun. Though Keith, being much to wrapped up in his imagination to notice, remained oblivious to blackening atmosphere and the odd, spiral-like shape forming in the clouds above. In fact, he was still so absorbed in his game that even several minutes later, he almost didn’t hear his mother’s panicked shout._

_“Keith!”_

_Keith glanced up in confusion, scrunching his brow as he stared at the rapidly growing figure of his mom as she ran towards him. “Mom?”_

_His mother, upon reaching his location, scooped Keith up in her arms before she had even skidded to a complete stop. Startled as almost being bowled over, Keith’s only resistance to his sudden manhandling was a short yelp of surprise as his mother made a mad dash back towards the house. Distantly, Keith could see the outline of his dad standing stiff in the doorway, expression clouded and strained._

_Now thoroughly confused and a bit panicked, Keith clenched his fists tightly into his mother’s shirt. He burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, doing little to muffle the agitated tone of his voice. “What’s happening?”_

_Upon hearing the stress in her child’s voice, Keith’s mother ran a soothing hand through his hair, cradling his head to her shoulder as she leapt up the porch stairs and into the house. Keith peered upward to see where his father was, and was met with a smile that even he, being ten a year old, could tell was fake._

_Keith’s father locked the door firmly behind them, and with an obviously forced air of nonchalance, turned and led Keith and his mom deeper into the house. The child squirmed, wide, scared eyes darting around nervously. “Mom, dad,” he whispered, voice shaking noticeably, “what’s going on?”_

_“Nothing for you to be worried about, love.”_

_Keith’s grip on his mother’s shirt didn’t relinquish, even as she entered the kitchen and stooped down to crawl under their large, dining room table. His father followed them, and for a few seconds Keith was able to entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, this was all only a game his parents made up to frighten him. The thought calmed him for a moment before a shattering boom of thunder, the first of many to come, echoed throughout the house and effectively chased the notion away._

_Keith whimpered and once again shoved his face into the crook of his mother’s neck as lightning, thunder and wind rained hell upon his childhood home. The grating noises and flashes of light proved to be overwhelming, and faintly Keith realized he was breathing much too fast to be normal. Everything was too loud and blinding and terrifying and he couldn’t get away from it, couldn’t escape, he can’t he can’t he can’t he—_

_A low, shuddering moan emanating from above was all the warning Keith had. He thought he might have been screaming, but a sharp, sickening crack drowned everything out until all he could hear was white noise. He shoved himself away from his mother, pushing at her grasping, frantic hands because all he could think about was getting away from the god-awful, horrifying noises. He tumbled back a few feet and tripped, rolling out from underneath the table to collide jarringly with a chair leg._

_Keith didn’t get up, didn’t move a single inch beside raising his arms to place his palms over his ears. The noises are even worse now, effectively petrifying and holding him in place. The roaring thunder and howling wind were everywhere, in his ears, under his skin, threaded through his brain, and Keith, in a rare moment of lucidity, swore he could feel the vibrations physically._

_After a few minutes (or was it hours?), Keith slowly began to work up the courage to open his eyes. The hellish storm was still raging, and though all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball, Keith tightened his small, ten-year-old fists around his ears and inched his eyelids open._

_A couch cushion, one he remembered falling asleep on many times before, blurred across his vision as it soared across the room dangerously close to his face. Keith yelped and shied away, but still continued to watch in awe as the cushion spiraled around in violent figure-eights, carried along its erratic path by the wind._

_It was as he tracked the cushion that he noticed other random knickknacks and furniture whipping through the air, a fact Keith would have found amusing if his situation wasn’t so dangerous. Lampshades, papers, pens, books, and other assorted objects flew through the air, seemingly thrown about at random by a vengeful spirit or ghost. Keith’s eyes followed a stray playing card as it floated, seemingly in slow motion, around his kitchen before finally fluttering down to rest on a thin beam of broken wood._

_Except, it wasn’t a beam at all. It was an arm. A very pale, very_ human _arm._

_Keith stared at the dainty, familiar fingertips that were now caked with blood for all of five seconds, before he screwed his eyes shut and emptied his stomach on the floor. He hacked pitifully, sucking in desperate gulps of air between heaves until there was simply nothing more left for him to cough up. Keith spat a gob of saliva onto the floor, and hesitantly, inch by inch, lifted his head._

**** _His mother’s cold, lifeless eyes stared blankly ahead, forever looking at something Keith could never see. Her expression, once so full of warmth was now pale and slack, a cruel reminder of all the times she had looked at him and smiled. A thick stream of blood trailed across her cheek and onto the floor below, originating from a gory, crater-like wound just below her hairline. Her scalp was matted in tangled, sticky clumps of congealed blood, and as Keith’s eyes flickered over the scene in mute horror, he noted that just beyond the outline of his mother’s head, was another pallid, limp figure._

_It was his dad; limbs twisted and body contorted in a way that reminded Keith of one of his old, broken action figures. A sob forced its way from his chest, but even as it spasmed through his small frame, he could not bring himself to look away from the haunting image. Keith’s stomach rolled, but instead of throwing up again he tilted his head back and screamed._

_He screamed and wailed and yelled until his jaw was sore and his throat raw and bloody. When he couldn’t scream, he cried, mourning in the only way his young body knew how. Keith sobbed uncontrollably, gasping for breath as his tears mixed with the blood pooled below. His fingers twitched by his sides, scrabbling at the ground, at his clothes— anything to anchor him to the reality he longed so desperately to be false._

_Keith’s tears didn’t cease and he remained paralyzed, even when he heard the telltale crack of a shattering beam emanating from above. He didn’t move, couldn’t move; he was suddenly too exhausted to even lift his legs. Keith’s wide, red-rimmed eyes glanced up, fixating one last time on his mother’s blank expression before his entire world was engulfed in a raging fire of pure agony._

_Keith wrenched open his mouth in a silent scream of excruciating pain, writhing around as much as he was able whilst being pinned to the floor by a large chunk of ceiling. Agony rolled from his left side in relentless, throbbing waves, and through blurry vision Keith could see a giant mass of wood and tile crushing his arm._

_Keith was no expert, but through the debilitating haze of pain even his barely-developed mind could tell that his arm was in bad shape. Every tiny movement sent bolts of pain rocketing down his side like thousands of barbed fish hooks sinking into his skin. Even breathing was torturous, but Keith knew, despite the muddled state of his brain, that he had to get out of this situation, as fast as he could. So with gritted teeth and the determination of a man far beyond his years, Keith tugged lightly on his trapped arm._

_Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Keith just about passed out as an indescribable feeling of sheer torment washed through his body. Pain slammed into his chest, and as he struggled to suck in air, Keith dully realized he could no longer hear the wretched howling of the wind. A steady thumping filling his hearing, a sound he would later realize belonged to his steadily fading pulse. He tried to force himself to breath, tried to push past the crippling agony, but as blackness encroached on his vision, Keith knew it was hopeless._

_He was going to die, and there was nothing Keith could do to stop it._

_The shadows that had previously been lurking in the corner of his eyesight began to close in, circling his conscious like shapeless, murky predators. Not a second passed before they pounced, dragging Keith’s awareness to the depths of an impossibly dark pit. And with a final, shuddering breath, he allowed his eyelids to slip closed._

* * *

 With a sharp, painful gasp, Keith jolted upward, scrabbling frantically at the stump of his left arm. His fingers clawed at his other limb while his eyes stared unseeingly into the dark, unaware of his harsh pants filling the room. His chest heaved, his muscles trembled, and his arm ached, yet Keith was unaware of any of it. All he could see was his mother’s lifeless eyes, his father’s twisted corpse, the wreckage of his house, his arm—

 “Keith?” He jumped and promptly stopped breathing as a warm hand rested gently on his shoulder. Out of the corner of his vision Lance’s torso emerged from the bed sheets as he pushed himself up, worried eyes framed by tousled hair and a somewhat groggy expression. The sleepiness, however, faded fast from his eyes, and Keith was hit with the full brunt of his boyfriend’s concerned stare. “What happened?”

 “…Nothing.”

Lance inched closer, wrapping his arms around the other as he gently pried Keith’s rigid fingers from where they curled around where his left arm ended. “Keith, you’re shaking.”

 Keith blinked, completely oblivious to the shivers that wracked his prone frame. Upon finding that they refused to cease, he hung his head and studied the sheets pooled in his lap, twisting his hand tightly into his shirt. He let out a sigh, frustrated to see that, even to his own ears, it too was shaky.

 “Keith…” Lance tightened his hold around the other and rested his chin on Keith’s bowed head. A few seconds passed in relative quiet, the silence punctuated only by Keith’s shallow, rapid breaths. Lance shifted, curling his fingers into the back of his boyfriend’s shirt. “Wanna talk about it?”

The response came almost immediately. “No.”

 Internally, Keith cringed, smacking himself for once again letting his pride get in the way of help. He wasn’t _that_ much of an idiot, even he knew that bottling things up for literally eight years was not exactly healthy. Night terrors had plagued him ever since it had happened, haunting his sleep, and at their worst, popping up even during the day.

 When Keith had first met Shiro, the other had encouraged him to talk about his childhood trauma after he spent the night once and had to force Keith awake from one of his nightmares. In his mind, he knew Shiro was right, but Keith could simply not force himself to talk. It was just too raw, too painful to dreg up the horrors of that night, that despite happening years ago, was just as vivid as the day it had happened.

 Keith was drawn from his thoughts as Lance, after a brief pause, began to speak again. “Listen, I know you don’t like to open up much, and I get that what you went through must have been absolutely awful, but I just think it might help if you talk about it a bit?” As he had spoken, Lance’s voice had lilted into a questioning tone, seemingly scared that Keith would explode at any minute. Seeing as seconds passed and he had yet to be yelled at, he continued, blurting out words in a nervous, slightly panicked jumble. “But you know I’m never gonna force you to talk, okay? I really care about you, Keith, I just want to see you happy. You can always, _always_ talk to me if you need to. I’m all ears, man, just let me know and I’m there for you.”

 Keith blinked, once, twice, trying to process what Lance had just said to him. Emotions whirled through his brain like a tumultuous storm; confusion, panic, sadness, and eventually, relief. Fisting his hand into the front of Lance’s shirt, Keith buried his face in his boyfriend’s chest, and for the first time since he was ten, finally let his tears fall.

Lance rubbed his back soothingly, tugging him impossibly closer as words began to pour out of Keith’s mouth like a flood. He spilled everything; his emotions, his thoughts, his pain, and anything and everything that came into his tired, emotionally-unstable mind. With a quaking voice punctuated by quiet sobs, Keith spoke of what it was like to see his parents lying dead before him, how it felt to see their mangled bodies, and the pure agony of having his arm pulverized by the roof. He spoke of how he had struggled through physical therapy, and had absolutely refused to see a psychologist about what he had experienced. He spoke of how afterwards, he had thought multiple times of a world without himself in it, of how life might be better if he didn’t have to live it. He spoke of how when he was sixteen he had almost done it, almost throne himself from the top of a building, and would have too if his closest friend, his brother, hadn’t been coincidentally up there to watch the setting sun. Keith spoke of these and more, letting the words tumble from his mouth, and for once, uncaring of the outcome. It didn’t matter, Lance wouldn’t care. He only wanted Keith to be happy, and that was all there was to it.

Keith sobbed and blabbered until he couldn’t, throat raw, eyes red, and brows scrunched. With a hoarse sigh, he breathed deeply into Lance’s shirt in a futile effort to calm himself, only to be distracted by a light, wet feeling on the top of his head.

 He paused, waiting for the pounding in his ears to lessen before trying to identify what his boyfriend was doing. A quiet sniff reached his foggy brain, and with a sharp gasp, Keith realized he hadn’t been the only one that was upset.

 The slight drip of tears upon the top of Keith’s head and the imperceptible tightening of Lance’s arms were the only signs he had that his boyfriend was distressed. Ignoring his brain screaming at him not to move, Keith tilted his head upward, shooting the other a look of confusion through red-rimmed eyes.

 Lance’s eyes were wide and damp, making the blue of his irises pop as a few stray tears traveled down his cheeks. Keith reached up and carefully wiped them away, whispering “what?” as the other lightly stroked his hair. Lance pulled him up and buried his face in his shoulder, wrapping Keith tightly in his arms.

 “I—“ he paused, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Keith. I’m so, so sorry.”

 Keith blinked, shock and befuddlement chasing away all previous emotions. “W-What?”

 Lance threaded his fingers through Keith hair, sighing softly into his neck. “It’s just that, you’re so perfect and amazing and you didn’t deserve any of that shit, and I want to help you and be there for you but I feel like an awful person and that I don’t deserve you? I fucking _teased_ you about the storm, a thing that really screwed you up in the past, and like, who even _does_ that? I’m such a—“ his voice cracked once again, and he coughed roughly in a futile attempt to mask it.

 “What— no, _Lance_ , you didn’t know, and it didn’t bother me anyways. And you’re,” Keith blushed, unused to having such intimate conversations, “you’re perfect. For me, I mean. Don’t put yourself down.”

 Lance locked eyes with Keith and gave a watery smile, still looking a bit uncertain. “That means a lot, Keith, thank you. But I still think I was still being an insensitive ass.”

 “Whatever you say, dick.”

 It was amazing how just a small chuckle from Lance could cause Keith’s mood to do a three-sixty. He smiled softly, leaning further into his boyfriend and let himself be held. In that moment, he was so grateful, so damn happy to have met Lance, that if he wasn’t so mentally exhausted it was very possible he might have cried again.

 As Keith was busy musing, Lance had taken it upon himself to lower the two of them back down onto the bed, not once releasing the other from his grasp. Keith noted how he took care not to jostle what remained of his left arm, a fact that he appreciated greatly considering it was still tender from when he had all but shredded it when he had woken up.

 Turning onto his side, Keith let out a quiet hum of thanks as Lance pulled the covers over the two of them, snuggling deeply into the mattress. Throwing an arm over his boyfriend, he shut his eyes, heartily encouraged by his dead-tired mind. Keith began to drift off, lulled by the warmth radiating from the body beside him, but a small niggling at the back of his mind kept him awake.

 “Lance?”

 Lance snuffed, shifting slightly closer. “Hmm?”

“Th-Thanks,” Keith coughed embarrassedly, “for, you know, listening.”

 Keith stared expectantly as the other cracked his eyes, relieved to see that he wasn’t _completely_ out of it. Lance smiled warmly and gazed softly at him, and unidentifiable look swimming in his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Keith’s temple before whispering, “ I was happy to, Keith. Thank you for trusting me.”

As Lance’s eyes once again drifted shut, Keith marveled at the afterimage of the other’s smile, sighing contentedly as it sent waves of affection rolling through his brain. He had not a clue what he had done to deserve someone like Lance, but he was completely and utterly grateful. Warm, comfortable, and groggy, Keith slowly shut his eyes and let himself drift off into the welcoming darkness it offered.

 It was the first dreamless sleep he’d had in years.


End file.
